Chapter 4

For the rest of June I heard nothing from Nicola. It was a relief, though I thought about her often in passing, usually while out running. At first I wondered what was going on in her mind to do such things, then later if she came to mind, I wondered what she might be doing, and whether she had at last decided to settle for her two-year boyfriend. After that she came briefly to mind every now and then; a memory and no more.

Over the next months, the markets were jittery as banks crashed and were bailed out by governments, but by judicious buying and selling I continued to make a profit, though a very small one by previous standards. I made losses some days but by and large came out on top. The majority of my investments were spread around the world and were thus safer.

While my finances were calm and secure, the weather was not. June and July were cloudy, or cloudy and wet, or windy and wet. It was depressing, and my morning run became a chore. I decided that if I were to get any results from my advertising, the work would come in September and not before, and that if I didn't escape the awful weather I would not last that long.

I decided to visit two of my Canadian cousins, one in Vancouver, and the other in Revelstoke in the Rockies, and I also opted to treat myself to a week in Lake Louise at the famous Lake Louise Hotel.

My third cousin Brigid in Vancouver was at a loose end, having just finished her degree, and I invited her to accompany me on my trip, sharing the driving. Patrick, and Moira his wife, in Revelstoke were delighted to entertain us, and so I set about booking the trip.

I left Britain half way through July. Vancouver with Brigid was as good and better than my previous visit, when, if I remember, it rained solidly the whole time. The sun shone on our journey to Revelstoke and we spent a very happy week with Patrick and Moira. Then on to Lake Louise where we spent another week. That hotel is so wonderful, both for service, food and the view, that it defies a description that would do it justice. We shared a room, separate beds, though she came to mine on the first night and thereafter. As she said, third cousins are hardly related at all!

I was enjoying Canada (and Brigid) so much that I stayed in Vancouver with Brigid for another week, and so it was mid August when I returned to England to find the weather improved and the financial world in worse turmoil. I had purposely refused to keep up with the news while away, and felt rested as a result.

Thanks to the crisis no one had responded to my advertising – there were no enquiries on my answer-phone, but when my business phone rang on the third Tuesday in August I felt elated, a customer at last – until I answered it.

"Mr Connors?" she asked, since I had given my 'company' name.

"We met some weeks ago," she continued on my affirmative answer. "You came to our flat looking for Nicola Grayson. I'm Sarah Wilkinson-Howard."

I now recognised the accent and smiled at the double-barrelled name, while all the while my spirits dropped though the floor. What now? My silence seemed to unnerve her.

"Hello?" she asked, probably thinking I had either fainted or left the phone, not surprisingly, I thought.

"I'm still here," I said in a dull monotone, remembering that she was not exactly welcoming when I knocked at her door. A nameless dread rose in my soul.

"Oh dear," she sighed, "this isn't going well. Look, I have to apologise for that evening. I didn't know Nicola was expecting you; I thought you were another hopeful – and she had plenty of those. She had indeed set aside that weekend for you, and I messed it up."

That came as a surprise! But it occurred as quickly that she was with Terry when she had said she had long finished with him.

"I don't think you've waited weeks just to apologise," I said, but gently. "There is something else, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is.' she said. "When she arrived on the Friday afternoon, I asked her about her weekend in Paris. She laughed and said Terry was a fool, and she had no intention of going anywhere with him. I was puzzled, and she told me she was meeting you. She was so upset when I told her you had been there the day before and I'd told you about the Paris trip. She phoned you twice at least, but there was no reply. Then she got your email and went to pieces."

"I can't think why," I retorted. "We weren't that close. We'd only met once recently since we were at school together, and she wanted to talk with me about something, but never got round to it. You said yourself she was back with Terry. Perhaps she was mildly disappointed, but surely not destroyed."

"Well, Kevin, all I can say is that she's been miserable ever since, and she's going downhill. That's why I'm ringing; I'm worried about her mental health, and I wondered if you would see her."

"You say she's been depressed since that weekend," I said with some patience. "Why have you waited so long to ask me?"

"I suggested to her that I ring you, but she refused and made me promise not to tell you, but this is serious. She doesn't know I'm doing this."

"I really don't understand. You said yourself she was back with the guy who had asked her to marry him. Why me?"

"She finished with him finally before coming home that Friday. I asked her about that, but apparently she wanted to be sure she had been right to finish the first time. He had been without a steady girlfriend since, and they tried to give it another go, but it didn't work."

I had a sudden idea. I wondered if Nicola...

"Sarah," I asked. "What did Nicola do that weekend after she got the email?"

Silence. A long silence.

I broke it. "She went to Paris with him, didn't she?"

"She was upset and despondent, and I said 'Why waste it?' I told her to go; I thought it would cheer her up. Apparently the weekend was a total disaster."

Here we go again. I thought.

Nicola was still bad news. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, she was affectionate, and certainly highly desirable, but chaos always ensued for me when she was involved. I helped her out, and she always dumped me in the shit. It happened even when she did not intend or perpetrate the disaster. There could be no future in this.

I sighed.

"Look, Sarah," I muttered, "in all my interactions with Nicky, she has asked me to do things. I have always agreed and then she has dumped me in the garbage. Now you want me to do it again. I don't know whether I can. I can only take so much."

"Please, Kevin," she begged. "I don't know what to do with her. She does her translation work nine to five, comes home and watches TV and goes to bed. She never smiles, never speaks unless absolutely necessary. She goes to bed early and sleeps through the night – ten or eleven hours. She's pale and getting thinner. I don't know who to turn to and you seem to be the key to this. Please, can it hurt to come and meet her?"

Her logic was impeccable, her moral arm-twisting emotionally painful. On a purely human level I had to help. At least I knew what I was getting into. I might as well pour the shit over my own head to save her the trouble. Yes. I would go.

"OK," I sighed with resignation. "It's Tuesday today. I need a couple of days to catch up after my holiday – get over jet lag. I'll come down on Thursday."

She enthused her thanks and rang off. My thought was that I was being a mug – again. I wondered how it would go wrong this time.

After a busy Wednesday sleeping, I caught the train on the Thursday mid-morning feeling a lot better. I lunched with John, a friend from university, who had been in the banking industry like me, and had been 'downsized' thanks to the crisis. He had a financial cushion and was not too worried. We had a good time, and after taking my leave of him, I made my way to the flat at about four in the afternoon.

On knocking I was greeted with a dazzling smile from Sarah. I'd forgotten how pretty she was.

"Kevin!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad you came. Come in!"

She led me to the living room. There was no sign of her housemates. She served me tea and scones and ate with me.

"Nicola should arrive about five thirty," she said. "I'm sure you can help her."

"I hope so," I said, "though I don't feel very confident; she's always been something of a mystery to me. You know our history?"

"She only said you were a good friend. She never said much about her life."

"A good friend, eh?" I smiled. "Well, I suppose so."

"There's more isn't there?" she probed.

"Oh yes, but I don't want to go into details now. Let's just say we were good friends at school until she disappointed me twice and we parted. Then after, what, ten years, she contacted me through the BBC, came to see me, and then disappointed me when I came to London at her request. So I don't hold much hope for this meeting either."

"You're very loyal to her." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"I'm constantly puzzled by her behaviour. She seems to make a habit of saying one thing and doing something else. I wouldn't mind, but I had a nice quiet fulfilled life until she came back into it. Now I seem to be running round after her, and she keeps messing me up!"

"Well, last time was a misunderstanding. We can put that right tonight."

I thought that really if she had not been with Terry she would have been home that Thursday. She had lied about him. I said nothing but sighed and she smiled encouragingly, and then mercifully changed the subject to our respective careers. It came as no surprise that she was an air cabin crew member – what in a less enlightened age we called an air hostess. She kept me enthralled with her stories of foreign parts and even more so the antics of air crew on stopovers. She was quite explicit. Before we realised it, it was seven o'clock and there was no sign of Nicola.

"Oh hell," Sarah muttered. "I shouldn't have told her."

"Told her? What?"

"That I'd phoned you and that you were coming."

She looked apologetically at me, "I'm sorry."

"You think she's keeping out of the way?" The question was superfluous.

Sarah stood abruptly and ran up the stairs. I heard drawers and cupboard doors being opened and closed. Then she came back to the living room.

"I don't believe it!" she groaned with a grimace. "She's gone! I mean she's emptied her drawers of practically everything. All her bathroom stuff is missing, and her two big suitcases. No note; no phone-call, nothing!"

I stared at her. There was nothing to say. Nicola had done it again.

Sarah acted. She took her mobile and tapped Nicola's number – at least I assumed it was. She listened then clicked the phone shut. She sat down heavily on the sofa next to me.

"Discontinued," she said. "She's either changed her number or her phone. In any case, I've nothing to say to her. I bet she wouldn't answer if I'd been able to leave a message. How could she do that?" She shook her head in disbelief.

I sat still. How indeed?

Nothing new here then is what I think went through my head at that moment.

Then I was annoyed. If she knew I was coming, she could have emailed me not to come; or she could have texted me. That would have been thoughtful. Not Nicola's way, obviously.

Sarah sat still next to me for a long while. Then she seemed to gather herself.

"Kevin," she said, turning to me and speaking earnestly. "We need to eat. I've brought you here on a wild goose chase, since the silly goose has flown. Let me take you out to dinner."